


Things You Try Not to Feel

by the_oscar_cat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_oscar_cat/pseuds/the_oscar_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...But he can have this - the steady jack-hammer of Stiles' heartbeat. It is calming, a strange comfort despite its speed.</p>
<p>Except - then it's not. </p>
<p>Something is very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Try Not to Feel

It's dark by the time Derek comes to, exhausted and aching. He struggles to his knees at the side of the bed and there is Cora, asleep, and he can feel the strong, regular rhythm of her heart, see that her skin is a healthy colour, the bruising at her temple fully healed. Derek slumps his head against the covers by her side in relief, if only for a moment, just to take stock. To centre himself against all the things still to come - the alphas, and the sheriff and Melissa, and the nightmare that he and Jennifer have become. He just needs a moment of quiet before he has to figure out what the hell to do next, so he settles his breath and the wolf that he is beneath his skin reaches out into the world.

It's late but there is plenty to sense - the generator is juddering the floor below, a motorbike is racing down the highway two miles away and it's a temptation for Derek to stretch further, just to check in for a moment - like a kind of masochistic meditation - to search out Stiles' heartbeat. He knows what it means that he can hear it, even from miles away, even if he can barely admit it to himself and buries that denial down, he's a past master of suppression, all the things he will never tell another living soul, secret upon secret, wrapped in shame and the knowledge that everything he touches he seems to destroy.

But he can have this - the steady jack-hammer of Stiles' heartbeat. It is calming, a strange comfort despite its speed.

Except - then it's not. It stutters and cuts out, like being plunged into darkness and Derek's stomach drops, hard and cold like stone and for a frantic minute he struggles to regain the connection. But it is just gone.

Something is very wrong.

Derek is on his feet before he knows what he's doing, and he's fuelled only by panic, with no idea what is going on or what he should do. He's across the loft and into the elevator and while it descends - too slow, fuck, way too slow - he has no choice but to try and work out what he's actually going to do. He sags against the elevator wall because he doesn't have the energy to pace, and wracks his brain trying to work out where Stiles is (not was, god not was). He can't feel anyone else's heartbeat this far away - that's not how it works - and for days now his head has been a jumbled mess of worrying about Cora, trying to second guess everything Peter tells him, rolling Isaac's words over and over, till they are a scrambled and mixed up with Jennifer's revelations, a thousand tiny cuts from all his past mistakes slowly peeling the flesh from his bones. 

He thinks back to the conversation he had with Lydia and Peter but still has no idea where the root cellar is. He lost his right to that knowledge after what happened with Paige - shame piled on shame - returned to punish him. And any record of it burned up in the house. But Lydia... Lydia had said something. Before she left... Deaton! They were going to ask Deaton.

The doors finally open and Derek scrambles out, shifting as he goes and starts to sprint out of the building and down the first alleyway, on four legs. It's not as fast as his alpha form but that was the price he paid to save Cora and right now it's all he's got. The silence, a hollow place in his rib cage, stretches on as he winds through the town, clambering across rooftops, travelling through the dark spaces, as straight a line from here to there as he can safely take. He's no idea what the fuck he's doing beyond getting to Stiles, even though the idea of what awaits him is terrifying. It's another thing he has no choice but to force back down, and he tries to concentrate only on moving forwards, on running as fast as he can, his wolf at the fore, gnashing and growling, hungry to destroy. To avenge. 

He bursts through the doors at Deaton's, vaults the desk and slams into the treatment room at the back of the surgery. The room is in chaos, the floor slick with water and melting ice. There are too many people for the space and three large metal baths obscure what is going on around them. But he can see Scott on the floor, a blanket haphazardly wrapped around his shoulders, his hair soaked and stuck to his skin, his eyes glazed. Derek looks around again and there is Allison, drenched and pale on the floor by the bath, Isaac hunched over her, one hand, black veined against her neck, his mouth against hers as he tries to push air into her lungs.

And there is Stiles.

His lips are blue against his pale skin. He's still in the centre bath and both Lydia and Deaton are struggling to get him out, his body a dead weight. Derek scrambles closer and Deaton steps back neatly so that Derek can grasp Stiles under his armpits and pull him out the bath and onto the floor. In a moment both he and Lydia are on their knees either side of Stiles.

"What the hell did you do?" It comes out slurred around his wolf mouth but Lydia isn't scared of him, isn't even looking at him, she's twisted away, yanking blankets off the counter and piling them over Stiles.

It's Deaton who replies as he fills a syringe from a small box on the counter-top. "A sacrifice. They just stole the Darach's need to kill their parents."

Derek frowns, his heart pounding in his chest, and looks down at Stiles then back at Lydia. "Can you do compressions?" he asks, his fingers already at the soft skin at Stiles' jaw, tipping his head up and back.

She nods tightly and clasps her hands together over his chest, counting under her breath. Derek rests his fingers against the artery in Stiles' neck while she works and the wolf pulls at Stiles sending ice down Derek's veins.

He's just completed three rescue breaths when Isaac starts to panic.

"Shit! It's not working!" He hisses. Then louder, "Scott! Fuck Scott! You have to help me. Allison, fuck she's not coming back!"

Derek looks up for a moment, leaning back to give Lydia more room as Scott stumbles passed them, skidding on the ice to get to where Isaac and Allison are on the floor. His skin looks pinker, his wolf healing and warming up far quicker than either Stiles or Allison could possibly hope to.

Deaton leans towards him and says "Keep going" as he steps over them to follow Scott.

He looks up at Lydia for a second before leaning down to push air into Stiles' lungs again. She must see something about him, because that look she gives him, the little crease between her eyebrows, it's not hard to believe she's a genius, regardless of how messed up her involvement has been with his pack up until now, because Derek feels transparent underneath her gaze even as she continues working on Stiles. Stiles who is still unresponsive, still unmoving and Derek doesn't know how long he's been out, how long they have left to keep trying, just keeps counting compressions and forcing air into Stiles, keeps drawing the cold from his core through his veins, his already exhausted healing working overtime. He figures he'll carry on until someone forces him to stop, not that he's planning to make it easy for them.

It's not working, nothing seems to be working, but god it has to work. 

Derek wants this one selfish thing, just wants Stiles out in the world, existing and breathing and pumping blood through his body. The countdown has to be running out and...

There is a yell from across the room and suddenly Isaac and Scott are heaving Allison onto her side and she's coughing up water and everything is so loud that Derek feels completely overwhelmed... 

and then Stiles' chest heaves and he takes in a giant breath of air, and Derek watches him cough, his knees jerking up to his body with the force and he coughs up water by Derek's thighs and the world regains its speed, rushes in and under Derek's skin.

"Hey." croaks Stiles as he blinks up at him. "Hey."

\---

Later, everyone is piled into Deaton's office because it's the nearest dry room. Scott and Isaac are curled around Allison in a nest of blankets. Derek is sat against the wall with a bundle of Stiles and blankets in front of him. Lydia sits between the two groups, her fingers stroking Allison's hair, her knee against Stiles' hip.

Stiles is slowly warming through, his back against Derek's chest, his head lolling on Derek's shoulder.

"Did it work?" He slurs, looking over at Deaton.

Deaton nods. "I think so."

Stiles looks up at Derek. "You ok man?" His voice is wrecked.

Derek sighs and looks up at the ceiling tiles. "Yeah," he replies eventually.

When he looks back down both Lydia and Deaton are giving him assessing looks, different routes but the same conclusion and Derek feels exposed for a moment, has to force down the urge to flee. But it passes quickly. So what if they think they know what's going on with him? Stiles wouldn’t believe either of them if said something and Derek’s not going to tell Stiles, not right now, maybe not ever.

And anyway it's past midnight. The full moon - the eclipse - is tonight and the alphas are coming. Maybe by tomorrow he'll be dead and it won't matter.

Derek just rests his head back against the wall and lets himself wallow, for this moment, in the familiar pounding of Stiles' heart.

A moment of calm he can gift to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the ever-wonderful [Lazulus](http://lazulus.dreamwidth.org/) for beta-ing.
> 
> I'm [theoscarcat](http://theoscarcat.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
